After all, one was rich, if only in the promise of perfect death.

It was a gladness above all, that this remained to look forward to, the pure inhuman otherness of death.
Whatever life might be, it could not take away death, the inhuman transcendent death.

Oh, let us ask no question of it, what it is or is not.

To know is human, and in death we do not know, we are not human.
And the joy of this compensates for all the bitterness of knowledge and the sordidness of our humanity.

In death we shall not be human, and we shall not know.